Medical Attention
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Ruth has been having trouble with her back, and Celia decides that it's high time the doctor knew about it. A Ruth/Dr. Wellington fic.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is how it goes: Miss Puppet has created the most awesome Ruth-suiting OC that there ever was- Dr. Timothy Wellington- and in my head the contents of her story _Woman of Yorkshire_ had become _Calendar Girls _canon. This story is kind of (another) fanfic of that fanfic; and takes place at some point when they're back in Yorkshire- having met in Hollywood- and are becoming very good friends. I'm not sure if it will be a oneshot or not. **

"Ruth, it's me, Celia. Can I come in?"

"Of course you can come in," Ruth called back, turning away from the kitchen sink, in the direction of the front hallway behind the door, both amused and perplexed that Celia had troubled to ask at all, "You don't usually bother to knock anyway!"

"I've got Dr. Wellington with me."

The cup that Ruth was washing seemed to slip in the soapy water and make a fleeting bid for freedom from between her fingers, but she managed to catch it and prevent it clinking against the rest of the washing up in the basin.

"W-what on earth for?" Ruth asked, aware that she sounded a little more aloof than was probably natural, and probably rude as well, quickly adding: "And why on earth should that mean you can't come in?"

She was feeling a little bit foolish now, addressing the sitting room door across both the sitting room and the kitchen.

"Ruth?" she heard Tim's voice now. He did not sound angry or in any way desperate; so ridding her of her anxiety that Celia might have kidnapped him and be detaining him against his will. He did, however, she thought, sound a little bit concerned. "Celia's told me that you haven't been very well. And that you haven't been telling me about it."

"So I've brought him round to you for himself. He is the doctor, after all," Celia chipped in, "Ruth, let us in, this is ridiculous!"

"I'm not stopping you!" Ruth pointed out, her hands still in the sink.

Realising that this was true, Celia opened the door and- not to put too fine a point on it- barged in. Tim followed rather sheepishly behind her. Not one to stand on ceremony, Celia deposited herself and her handbag on the settee; Tim hovering politely beside her, so they could both look through the wide door frame to the kitchen where Ruth was abandoning the dishes.

There was a pause.

"What's been the trouble, Ruth?" Tim finally asked, very cautiously.

"Nothing," Ruth told him automatically as she shook the soap suds from her hands, "I don't know what Celia's making all of this fuss about."

Any attempt for Ruth to look pointedly at Celia, she realised too late, was never going to go down well. Celia could stare an eagle down, should she choose to.

"Oh, come off it, Ruth. You didn't think none of us would notice, did you? Your back's been bothering you for weeks, but for some inexplicable reason you seem to enjoy suffering in silence."

Ruth's protestations that she was absolutely fine were not aided by the fact that when she bent over to dry her hands on the towel hanging on the oven door a familiar jolt shot through her back, leaving her too surprised and sore to be able to conceal her sharp wince.

"I told you so."

Keeping her back to them both, Ruth cursed to herself for a second. She could almost see the knowing look that Celia would be giving Tim right at that very moment.

The fact of the matter was that the reason she hadn't been to see the doctor about her ever more troublesome back, was- contrary to Celia's belief- highly explicable. The problem was that she could not imagine herself being able to get through even the briefest, most superficial physical examination from Dr. Timothy Wellington without becoming somewhat... flustered, to put it _very _mildly indeed. And, it did not help that she had _always _had a sensitive back. This was the point at which- as well as being his steady friend- being intensely attracted to the general practitioner responsible for her own health decidedly had its downfalls. And, painful as her back had been at times over the past few weeks, she hadn't quite been able to pluck up the nerve it would take to seek out her cure yet.

She realised that she was gripping the rail of the oven door very tightly against the receding pain. Slowly, she straightened up so as not to encourage another burst of discomfort.

"Are you alright?" Tim had moved in to the kitchen without her hearing him, and was standing close behind her, stretching his arm out in concern. "Will you let me take a look? Please, Ruth," he added too quietly for Celia to hear him, leaning in towards the back of her hair, as his hand rested on her wrist for support.

"I'm fine," Ruth continued to insist in spite of every one of her instincts, rather hopelessly given the way she practically hobbled from the room in front of him, causing him to have to slow down considerably.

"Don't be a bloody fool, Ruth," Celia told her from the settee, over the magazine she had found on the little coffee table and helped herself to.

Ruth was about to reply rather snappishly that it was her house and she would be a fool in it if she wanted to be one, but Tim- still standing close beside Ruth- cut across her.

"Give us a minute, would you, Celia? I think I can handle this now."

Ruth sank gingerly down to perch on the edge of the table, while Celia apparently weighed up her options. Tim's manner, however, made it plain that he would suffer no disagreement.

"I'll go," Celia told them breezily, discarding the magazine, rising and swinging her handbag onto her shoulder, "You'll feel easier about it if I'm not here. Ruth, don't be an idiot, and just allow him to help you. Ring me if you need anything," she called as she left the room. 

Once they heard the front door go, Tim turned back to Ruth. His look of gentle concern was so soft, so genuine that for a moment Ruth felt so wonderfully safe in his presence that for a moment almost completely gave way, allowing him to care for her however he wanted to. Wanting to do that, she suspected, wasn't going to make matters any easier, however inviting the prospect.

"Will you let me have a look?" he asked again, "I won't touch if it hurts you."

It wasn't the pain that she was worried about, but she couldn't very well say so. He gave her no other choice, she couldn't refuse him; it would be like saying that she didn't trust him. Slowly, she nodded.

"Right, well," he bounded quickly across to the settee, picking up one of the larger cushions and placing it at the head of the table, "Put your head there, and lie down on your front. Whenever you're ready."

She did so slowly and cautiously, a little disconcerted by the fact that like this she couldn't really see him properly. It seemed to heighten the effect of his voice, and heaven only knew what it would do once he touched her.

"Is the pain in your lower back?" he asked.

"Usually," she replied, "But when it's very bad, I can feel it higher as well. Almost to my shoulders."

He paused for a second.

"Would you mind if I lifted your shirt up a little bit? Only a little," he added hurriedly.

Ruth hesitated for a second, tensing considerably.

"Oh, come on, Ruth," his voice was still gentle, but hinted towards amusement; he was teasing her softly, trying to relax her, "Most of the calendar-using-world's seen you with considerably less on."

"They haven't seen me in the flesh, though," she reminded him.

"But it's only me," he told her, thinking he was being reassuring.

That, she thought, was _exactly _the problem.

"Go on, then," she told him quietly, admitting defeat.

She couldn't help but close her eyes as she felt the cool rush of air on her lower back and first shocks of having the tips of his fingers probing along her spine with carefully trained precision. Though he touched some of the sorer spots, she managed to keep herself from wincing aloud, but once he hit a spot that was sensitive in an entirely different way.

"Sorry," he apologised hurriedly, hearing the quiet moan she let slip involuntarily, "Did that hurt you?" 

She hummed as ambiguously as possible in response, mentally cursing herself for her slip up. His fingers were firm, but not brutally pragmatic like she had known some doctors to be, and warm in contrast to the coolness of the air on her skin. Finally, he reached the line where her T-shirt lay.

"You said the pain went higher sometimes?" he queried.

It had been a very, _very _bad idea to mention that. She nodded wordlessly. His fingers moved higher, skipping quickly over the line of her bra. A very foolish part of her mind thought that had she known what Celia was planning she would have made sure to put on a more interesting bra than Mark's and Spencer's plain whites, but really it was too late to do anything about that now. Not that she should really be thinking like that in the first place. No wonder she had found herself in such trouble!

It didn't occur to her at the time that lying with her eyes tightly shut might seem strange to him, but it was the only way as far as she was concerned of getting through the examination intact and without making an utter fool of herself. Finally, she felt his hands gently place her shirt back down over her skin and help her to sit up.

"It seems to be a pulled muscle," he told her.

"Really?" she was genuinely surprised, it hadn't felt muscular at all, "I wouldn't have thought a pulled muscle would feel like that."

"Sometimes, when it's a particularly large muscle in question, or there is a lot of strain placed on it- as there would be with the lower back- there would be considerable tension and that could be quite painful," he explained to her.

"I see. That makes sense."

He was quiet for a moment, one hand resting on the table near to where she sat, his head quite close to hers. She looked down at her knees, aware that he was watching her face, and almost uncomfortable under the gaze of his piercing eyes, unsure as yet what they were trying to tell her. Nevertheless, she was still acutely aware of his wonderfully alarming physical proximity.

"Ruth?" he asked, breaking the silence after a while. She just about dared to tentatively look towards him. "Why _didn't _you tell me that your back was hurting you this much? I'd like to think that you feel comfortable talking to me openly about your health, at the very least. Unless Celia was right," he added, almost as an afterthought, "And you really are some kind of glutton for punishment. In which case, it's not so much me you need as a psychiatrist."

He joked, he was teasing her again, but still she got the feeling that she was not going to be able to avoid his question; he was still watching her intently. Just a small movement to the right, she thought- my right, his left- and his hand would be resting against her knee. It wasn't helping her to think very clearly, though, and that was what she really needed to do in order to give him an answer.

"I didn't want-..." she began, and then didn't finish.

"If you didn't want to trouble me," he attempted to help her out, "Then you can't think very much of me as a doctor. We may be friends, Ruth, but it's still my job for you to trouble me about things like this!"

He was seeing right through her, she realised. Would it just be easier to tell him the truth now, tell him the exact, explicit reason that she hadn't told him about it before? Easier in the long run, perhaps, but a thousand times more difficult to say out loud at the moment. _I didn't want you to touch me like that, because I didn't know if I would be able to control myself._ She felt herself flushing wildly.

"Ruth..." he began slowly, his voice sounding suddenly deeper. Puzzled, she looked up into his face and saw that his eyes were dark. Yes, he saw right through her.

"I didn't want..." _I didn't want you to touch me like that, because I'm so ridiculously attracted to you. _It sounded so feeble in her own mind, never mind what it would sound like if she said them aloud. And was it entirely true, anyway? Was it the complete truth? She thought about how even when she'd been so worried about the way his touch made her react, how she'd simultaneously felt so wonderfully safe. Safer by far than she'd ever felt when Eddie had touched her, even at the start.

This time he did not try to finish her sentence for her; he was waiting for her to do it.

"I thought if you touched me, I might not want you to stop touching me."

She said it and for a moment afterwards- a longer moment than she was comfortable with- he remained silent, allowing the weight and the implications of what she had said to sink in.

"I suppose when you say it like that, it sounds quite silly, really," she continued, aware that she was babbling hopelessly, in order to avoid the silence, "But I-..." 

She was cut off by the feeling of his lips pressed up against hers, his hand covering the few inches to her right- and his left- to brush hesitantly against her knee. She gasped a little in surprise, her hand pressing itself into his hair and holding him closer to her almost by instinct. As soon as her mind had caught up with what was happening to her body, she responded enthusiastically, kissing him back; after a little while, tentatively opening her mouth and allowing him to deepen their kiss. It seemed her confession had been all the invitation he had needed.

When they broke apart, it transpired that he had found his way to stand in between her knees, his hands holding her waist gently but firmly. A little breathless, she found herself with a rather giddy urge to laugh, leaning forwards and drawing him closer to rest her head against his shoulder.

"What?" he questioned, leaning his cheek against her soft hair, moving his arms around her back to hold her to his chest.

"Nothing," she replied, "I don't know, I just suddenly felt very happy. Happier than I've been in a long time."

His hands moved to her shoulders, holding her a little way away from him so he could examine her face, cautiously moving one hand to brush his thumb along the line of her cheek.

"Ruth," he whispered softly, sounding almost awe-struck, before quickly leaning in to kiss her on the lips again.

She held herself closer to his body the next time, refusing to let go.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	2. Chapter 2

**This is now a two-shot; I can't really go on with it without seriously running riot with Miss Puppet's plot; but that's not to say I mightn't write more for these two in the future. Anyway, Miss Puppet requested a chapter from Dr. Wellington's point of view, and I can't really deny her that; she did invent him. Thank you for all of your lovely reviews so far. **

Timothy surveyed Celia very clearly over the top of the mug of tea he was holding, trying to take in exactly what she had just said to him. Overall, it wasn't that it was difficult to believe- for a little while now he had just about allowed himself to hope that what she was saying might be true- it was only that he wanted to be _very _sure that it was before he acted upon it.

"So, just let me get this straight," he told her, holding his hand up a little to prevent her from saying any more for the moment, "You think that over the past few weeks Ruth has been having trouble with her back, but she won't tell me about it because-..." 

"Because she fancies the pants off you, yes."

Celia could be wonderfully abrupt when she wanted to. Although he didn't necessarily find it an attractive quality, it was still admirable at the very least. There was one thing puzzling him though.

"Regardless of whether or not she..." he gesticulated vaguely with his hand, trying to think of a way to be more delicate than Celia.

"Fancies the pants off you," Celia supplied, again, evidently unconcerned by the notion of delicacy.

"Fancies the pants off me," he repeated rather reluctantly, moving quickly on, "It doesn't change the fact that I'm still her doctor and she's still my patient."

Celia looked at him as if he was being really rather stupid.

"Of course it changes it," she told him sharply, "It changes everything as far as you're both concerned. Especially this. Can you imagine how difficult it would be for someone like Ruth to be physically examined by someone she's as attracted to as she is to you? How mortifying it would be to her to even ask?"

He raised an eyebrow at that one, trying not to feel too pleased, remembering that at the moment there were more serious matters at hand. Well, if they were not more serious, then they were more solemn at any rate.

"You realise that as you have now informed Ruth's doctor about it, he's duty bound to ensure she's in no serious danger?" he asked her, "Therefore making it highly likely that because of what you've told me, Ruth is going to have to go through the mortification of being examined by me anyway?"

"I haven't told you in any official capacity," Celia pointed out, indicating to their surroundings- his kitchen table at home, as opposed to his consulting room at the surgery-, "You said it yourself when I said there was something I had to tell you: you have your fellow-inhabitant-of-Knapely hat on now, as opposed to your doctor's hat."

"Alright then," he admitted, "If you analysed this case by the book, you'd probably find that I have no legal obligation to examine Ruth or make any extensive enquiries into what's wrong with her. But I care about her very much, and what you've said has made me worried; and there's every chance that I might make use of the fact that I'm her doctor to persuade her to explain to me what the trouble is."

Celia looked maddeningly pleased with herself; the air of a woman successful in her mission.

"Don't you look so happy," he told her warily, "It'll be down to you if Ruth has to undergo the torture of being physically examined by me."

"I said being examined would be difficult for her," Celia corrected him, her smugness quite pronounced by now, "At no point did I say that it would do her any harm."

…**...**

Well, Celia had been right about one thing if nothing else: this was making Ruth very uncomfortable indeed. Her reaction to the mere suggestion of it should have been enough to tell him how awkward it would make her feel. Her back was tensed to the point where there was little chance of him feeling anything at all, let alone ascertaining what was the matter with her. He opened his mouth, about to try to say something that might ease her a little, when he noticed that she had her eyes tightly shut. Reasoning that she was likely to ignore anything that he said in order to make things a easy as possible, he realised that he was probably going to have to calm her without words. Softly, instead of continuing his examination, he smoothed his fingers down the curve of her lower spine in a light massaging motion.

The effect was miraculous. The muscles supporting her spine seemed to unclench instinctively, but he barely had a moment to reflect on this triumph when he heard her let out a quiet moan against the cushion where her head lay. Though he was fairly sure it was not that kind of moan- a suspicion he thought it would be wisest to ignore for the moment- he apologised in case he had hurt her.

Continuing to probe her back as gently as possible, he found some irregular inflammation; probably what was causing her trouble. Unfortunately for his self control, he found that it did not cease before the line of her blue shirt against her brilliant white skin. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that at the moment at least he was supposed to be a professional. That he and this woman were almost certainly mutually attracted to each other- to put it very mildly indeed- was of almost no consequence whatsoever.

"You said the pain went higher sometimes?" he asked her, hoping his voice sounded vaguely level.

He felt her nod slightly against the cushion. Cautiously, he lifted her shirt higher, continuing to follow the inflammation up her spine, ignoring that her bra even had a catch for his own sanity. He was pleased to find that the inflammation did not go much further, and had ceased completely by the time he reached her neck. It was almost a relief to be able to draw her shirt back down over her skin, and to help her sit up, although he found his fingertips treacherously missed the feeling of her skin against his.

"It seems to be a pulled muscle," he explained.

"Really? I wouldn't have thought a pulled muscle would feel like that."

Her eyes widened just a fraction in her surprise, their brown reaching out that little bit more, making his breath almost catch in his throat.

"Sometimes, when it's a particularly large muscle in question, or there is a lot of strain placed on it- as there would be with the lower back- there would be considerable tension and that could be quite painful," he managed to explain to her, his voice not catching in his throat enough to impede his speech altogether.

"I see. That makes sense."

She was aware of the way he was watching her, but at the moment he didn't particularly care. At that moment, he was only wondering incredulously to himself what kind of an idiot her husband had been to even think of having an affair when he could have had this beauty; this wonderful, feminine, abashed, unwitting beauty. And that was even before he considered that Ruth was probably the kindest woman he had ever known. Before he considered the infatuated love her had for the person, the soul that Ruth was.

He loved her, of course he did. It seemed stupidly obvious now.

"Ruth?" he finally found the voice to ask, feeling that now he had to say something to her; he could not stand here and say nothing at all, "Why _didn't _you tell me that your back was hurting you this much?"

…**...**

Kissing her, kissing Ruth, so softly and tenderly, with every ounce of love she deserved; holding her feminine waist in his hands so that she moved closer to him. Kissing her, taking her lower lip between his and gently pressing his tongue along it so that he heard a little moan escape from the back of her throat as, almost shyly, she opened her mouth to allow him to explore her further. Nudging his way, without thinking about it, to stand snugly between her knees.

The feel of her soft hair against his cheek as in her joy she laughed giddily against his chest. Laughter made her seem so young, and made him feel young too when he was holding her like this. Her happiness was infectious as he examined her beautiful face, holding it tenderly in his palm as he stroked her cheek.

"Ruth," he whispered softly, awe-struck, before quickly leaning in to kiss her soft red lips again. He noticed they were slightly swollen as she drew him to her body this time to hold him. They stayed like that for a long time; Ruth relaxed and secure in his arms.

Finally, though, he remembered why he'd come here in the first place.

"It won't be good for your back to stay sitting here for too long," he told her, reluctant as he was to move.

"To hell with my back," she whispered in his ear, in a quiet, serious voice that made him shudder a little. She obviously noticed this, because the next thing he felt was her lips tentatively latching onto his earlobe and sucking it gently. He heard himself moan, his hands tightening involuntarily around her waist.

"Ruth," he told her warningly, "Not that I'm not enjoying what you're doing immensely, I'm rather uneasy about giving your back up to hell. I've just discovered that you have a rather beautiful back."

"Flatterer," she scolded him, but got down anyway, taking his hand in hers and leading him across to the settee.

They settled there, hands still entwined, arms fining their way around each other to sit and hold each other for a while. She amazed him; how it felt to finally be this close to her, how calmly she was taking it. Perhaps she had wanted it for as long as he had. His chest rested in the softness of her hair, her back resting against his chest.

When she spoke now it was in a smaller voice.

"What now?" she asked.

He hesitated only for a second.

"Now I take care of you; as much or as little as you'll let me."

"Couldn't that get you into horrendous amounts of trouble?" she asked him, "From medical boards and so on? I'm still your patient, remember?"

"Are you comfortable with me remaining your doctor?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered immediately.

"Then, though I'm not one hundred percent up to scratch on rules like this, I'd say we're alright for the moment," he told her, "And later, if we do decide for one reason or another, that it would be best for me not to be your doctor, I will find another practice."

"I can't ask tha-..."

"You can ask anything of me that you like, Ruth. I love you."

There was a silence for a moment, before he felt her relax a fraction more into his chest, so that she was practically lying on him.

"I love you too."

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time. **


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